


At the Ravenna!

by jalen_mara



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bachelor/Bachelerotte Parties, Dany’s a lawyer, F/M, Happy Birthday to Mel!, Jon’s a cop, Loosely tied to the Brooklyn99 universe, Modern AU, and lots of other fun stuff, my New Yorker is showing, no seriously it’s a hellhole, not enough to warrant a tag though, not kind to AC, or Jersey, smut in part 2, they meet in AWFUL Atlantic City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalen_mara/pseuds/jalen_mara
Summary: “Jon.” He offered his hand to her before he could convince himself otherwise, wondering if maybe the whiskey he’d been drinking steadily the entire night hadn’t beenquiteas watered down as he had previously thought.Shefucking beamedat him as she curled her soft fingers around his own, her handshake firm and he wondered what else her fingers could do to him before he shook his head, realizing that she had said something that he missed because he was staring right at her mouth, with that full bottom lip that he wondered what would feel like between his teeth and god he needed to get a fucking grip before he made a fool out of himself.“What?” he shouted, leaning forward, hoping that this time he could hear her over fuckingDancing Queenon eternal loop. He jolted in his chair, spilling his drink all over his hand when those lips brushed against his earlobe, her breath warm in his ear.“Dany. Nice to meet you.”





	At the Ravenna!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notpmaHleM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notpmaHleM/gifts).

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEL!!! You are the greatest friend and co-writer a girl could ask for, and I have absolutely zero regrets about this fandom because of you. I hope that you are having a phenomenal day being showered with all the love you deserve. Enjoy that seafood tonight! 🎉 ❤️ 🥰 
> 
> Also, yes, there will be a part 2! Because writing is hard, and birthdays don’t like to adjust their timelines when I need more time for the smut. So enjoy the anticipation my friends. More coming when it doesn’t split my brain into pieces jumping back and forth between this and Scars. My god, the tonal shifts!! 😱 
> 
> Huge thanks to JW for the quick beta and moodboard!!! ❤️ 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

He blamed Theon for most things, but this was— by far— the worst experience Jon Snow had ever had.

“But, it’s for Robb’s Bachelor Party! And I can’t afford to go to Vegas.” Jon remembered glaring at him when he had made that statement. As if Theon Greyjoy could afford a trip to Atlantic City. No, he would end up doing the same thing that he had always done— mooching off of Robb. But since it was considered bad form to make the bachelor pay for his own party, then Jon would be shouldering a double burden of both his brother,  _ and _ his brother’s low life best friend.

The worst.

Combine the extra financial pressure with the fact that it was fucking  _ Atlantic City.  _ The mold growing on the fungus of the infected toenail that was the entire state of New Jersey. Everything, and yes he did mean  _ everything, _ in this godforsaken hellhole stank. If it wasn’t the permeating smell of rotting fish carcasses, it was the vomit. And if it wasn’t the vomit, it was the body odor of the gambling lifers who never seemed to fucking leave their slot machines, craps tables, pai gow, or Texas Hold ‘Em poker hands. It was as if they had stayed sedentary for so long that something inside of them had died, and the rot was desperately seeking an escape, one way or another.

The only benefit was that he could literally smoke anywhere. Casinos had that going for them at the very least. Although, Jon suspected it had more to do with keeping their gullible marks indoors, close to the gambling than any real benefit. In fact, he was almost certain that he had developed lung cancer in the four hours they had been there, more from inhaling the second hand smoke of the collective vitamin D deprived, slack jawed, glassy eyed populace than his almost ten years of smoking.

He was definitely quitting as soon as this god-forsaken weekend had come to a close.

The close proximity of all of the tables was starting to make his skin crawl. They couldn’t move more than three feet in any direction before another gaming table blocked his way from the main walkway, a weaving maze of filth, smoke, dying dreams, and watered down drinks that claimed to have some sort of alcohol content, but he severely doubted that they did.

“Brother,” Robb’s arm snaked around his neck, jerking him close, his other fist coming up to drag a few rough knuckles through his hair. “You have got to loosen up. It’s a party! I’m getting fucking married in two weeks!”

_ Ah, yes. Thanks for that reminder.  _ Only two weeks until the rest of the Stark clan descended upon whatever renovated farmhouse “mere miles” outside of New York City that Talisa had found for the blessed nuptials. Far enough away that it made travel nigh impossible for anyone without a car, and so he would have to suffer through one of Aunt Cat’s famous “tension headaches” in order to chauffeur the family to and from the City. 

“I’m well aware,” Jon grumbled, grabbing Robb’s wrist before he could pull anymore hair loose from his bun.

Robb sighed, taking his brother by both shoulders and giving him what Jon was sure he  _ thought _ was a gentle shake, but that actually rattled his teeth so hard he may have heard a filling crack. It was either that, or one of the “gentleman” at the nickel slots behind him had finally keeled over from exhaustion or a myocardial infarction and had split his skull open on the impossibly shiny tile floor. 

“Look, if you’re going to be a brooding nightmare all weekend, then we might as well make sure you’re a  _ drunk _ brooding nightmare.” He let go of Jon long enough to snag Theon by the collar before he gave into the temptation to dive face first into the bosom of one of the harried looking waitresses.

“Drinks!” Robb roared as he led them to the nearest bar. It wasn’t hard to find, mostly because it was lit up with putrid pink and purple neon that somehow managed to both attract unwanted attention and serve as a deterrent to all clientele, being that the area it occupied was brighter than the surface of the sun. Jon was sure his retinas would never recover from the assault and battery.

Surprisingly, there was no line at the bar, likely because they had entered a golden gambling hour in which all the poor saps had been siphoned so thoroughly into their soul sucking voids of temptation and greed that nothing save for a nuclear event would likely get them to budge from their seats, and even that was debatable. After all, why run when you can die a richer man than what you were mere seconds before?

They each ordered a drink, Theon going so far as to get a Long Island Iced Tea with more frou-frou drink umbrellas of increasing clashing colors and sizes than he could count, and Jon was truly impressed that he managed not to put out an eye before even getting one successful sip down his throat. He and Robb stuck to whiskey— neat— no need to water down what was no doubt already cheap booze with contaminated ice chips and sweat from poor bar-backs that had to bring up bucket after bucket from some nearby basement no doubt crawling with roaches, rats, and more vermin of unusual size.

“All right, as Best Man, I think you have to start us off with a speech this evening.” Robb grinned, looping an arm around Jon’s neck to pull him in close, Theon’s collar still in a firm grip.

Jon groaned. “Dammit, Robb. You promised I’d only have to do that at the fucking wedding.”

“I changed my mind. I always love hearing about my many superior qualities at any given point.”

“Fine.” Jon scowled, unable to concentrate over the wall of noise that was doing its damndest to penetrate and perforate his eardrums, the constant dinging and  _ good god above  _ was that ABBA playing on loop? “Uh, to Robb— may none of us end up in prison tonight because if the Ravenna is this bad, I do not want to see the inside of an Atlantic City jail cell this evening.”

Robb and Theon both blinked at him blearily. “Well, that certainly set the bar low for expectations about the wedding,” Robb mused before touching his glass to both Jon and Theon’s. “To me!”

“To the Groom!”

~*~*~

Surprising no one, Theon immediately lost all of what little money he did possess at one of the Texas Hold ‘Em tables, and no amount of begging for Jon to “just spot him ten dollars” would sway him into giving Theon any more of his hard-earned pennies. However, Robb was not so strict with his scruples, and agreed that if Theon were to join him at a craps table, he would give him twenty bucks to start on and see where it went from there.

That had been  _ hours _ ago.

Jon had lost track of time, the unique mixture of smoke and ozone colliding and burning in his nostrils with the whiskey, and his phone had died somewhere around midnight. All he knew was that Theon was now some sort of dice god, and everything he had previously known as an undisputed fact about his life— and the universe at large— had turned topsy-turvy. However, he wasn’t complaining  _ much  _ since Theon had flipped him a chip worth $1K “to cover”, and the blonde to his right had rolled up an hour before.

Except, she wasn’t blonde. Not really. Jon still wasn’t sure what her hair color was exactly. It kept picking up the strains of neon surrounding them and sparking back whatever color was most prominent.

She was obviously part of a bachelorette party. The sheer, staggering amount of pink penis paraphernalia that covered her from head to toe had given that away immediately. The bride seemed to be a lovely, bronze-skinned woman with hair of baffling volume, curls gorgeous and springy and the color of rich loam. But really, nothing could compare to her best friend.

Also, she was getting married. Not that that was stopping Theon.

“So, when’s the big day?” he slurred, leaning in close as the young woman pursed her lips and fixed her golden eyes on him.

“Three weeks!” She grinned back at him, offering the dice in her hand for him to blow on—  _ for luck.  _ There was a hell of a lot of activity going on around him  _ for luck. _

“Sorry about my... friend.” Jon leaned closer until his shoulder brushed up against the blonde’s, and  _ fucking Christ,  _ that had been a mistake because now we could smell her perfume— something citrusy or flowery that he had no damn idea of what it actually was, but it cut through the garbage smell of everything else faster than he thought possible.

“Oh, Dei’s fine,” she said, turning to him with a bright smile, pink tongue searching for the straw that had somehow escaped those supple lips and  _ shit, goddammit _ — yup, it was a penis, with remnants of her red lipstick already smeared across the tip.

That was a shot straight to his groin, warmth spreading down his spine and coiling there and  _ fucking hell, he needed to think of his grandmother or something because fuck _ — if she had that effect on him with one sentence, and one clumsy, tipsy drink, then she might well own his brownstone in Brooklyn before the night was over.

“Jon.” He offered his hand to her before he could convince himself otherwise, wondering if maybe the whiskey he’d been drinking steadily the entire night hadn’t been  _ quite _ as watered down as he had previously thought.

She  _ fucking beamed _ at him as she curled her soft fingers around his own, her handshake firm and he wondered what else her fingers could do to him before he shook his head, realizing that she had said something that he missed because he was staring right at her mouth, with that full bottom lip that he wondered what would feel like between his teeth and  _ god _ he needed to get a fucking grip before he made a fool out of himself. 

“What?” he shouted, leaning forward, hoping that this time he could hear her over fucking  _ Dancing Queen _ on eternal loop. He jolted in his chair, spilling his drink all over his hand when those lips brushed against his earlobe, her breath warm in his ear. 

“Dany. Nice to meet you.”

~*~*~

Jon was a  _ snacc.  _

God, that hair of his had been mesmerizing her for hours now, all of those gorgeous curls so brutally restrained, and she wondered what he would do if she were to just reach over and playfully yank the hair tie out, allowing the curls the freedom they were due.

He obviously wasn’t much of a gambler, sitting back from what she assumed was his brother (as the man kept turning around and shouting “Brother!” every four seconds like clockwork) and friend, although even Jon himself seemed not too sure of that fact. He’d been brooding into that tumbler of whiskey since she had sat down next to him at least an hour before, and Dany couldn’t help but feel as if he were a chain-smoking lightweight, but a  _ cute _ chain-smoking lightweight at the very least.

He still hadn’t let go of her hand, calloused fingers lightly tracing the inside of her palm, and she had to suppress a shiver as she crossed her legs and leaned in so that they didn’t have to shout to be heard across the din of  _ good god, was that ABBA?—  _ or at least, that was what she told herself she was doing, and not that she wanted to get close enough to find out if the woodsy smell was his cologne, or that the sight of his adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed was one of the most sensual sights she had ever seen, and she needed to get a fucking grip.

She set her drink down on the high counter behind her, belatedly remembering that he must have been watching her suck down her mojito with the dick straw that Dei had suggested they bring along,  _ ironically _ , of course, because no bachelorette party would be complete without that horrific and embarrassing nightmare, but— the bride gets what the bride wants, and Dany had capitulated without too much of a fight.

She reached for a napkin before turning and offering it to him, not missing the fact that he had jolted so hard that he had spilled what was left of his whiskey all over his hand, and it would be impolite to offer to lick him clean after only knowing his name for less than the span of a minute. “We should get you a fresh drink!”

Jon set down the empty glass and shook the excess liquid off his hand before he reached for the napkin and leaned close to speak directly into her ear. “How’s yours? Need a top off?”

She almost couldn’t answer right away, because  _ god, _ his voice was sexy as all hell, and she had to make herself swallow to keep her saliva in her mouth where it belonged. “Sure!” she squeaked, wondering when she was going to stop sounding like a sorority girl and if he could hear all the exclamation points in her delivery.

Jon grinned at her, a full smile— all teeth— and  _ fuck _ , she was going to jump him in about seven more seconds if he kept looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole, something she would gladly return the favor on about a thousand times over. He waved over a waitress, who yawned and rolled her eyes at the two of them before whisking their empties away and leaving them with nothing but a stack of napkins and Dei’s curious glances to contend with.

“So, shall we get the main questions out of the way, or skip them altogether?” She leaned back into him, the bare skin of her shoulder bumping against his chest, and  _ fuck _ , it was firm beneath her touch and yup, that piney/woodsy smell was definitely him and why was it making her mouth water so damn much?

“We can do the questions thing— I take it you’re here for a—“ he paused before waving his hand vaguely over her and Dei, “—bachelorette party?”

She giggled. Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ, Daenerys Targaryen didn’t  _ giggle.  _ “What gave it away?”

“Well, I am a detective, sooo...” he drawled.

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

He nodded. “Yup, night shift at the one and only, Brooklyn 99th precinct.”

“Aha, you’re from the City then.”

“You?”

She smiled. “Queens. The superior borough, by the way.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not sure I care for your tone, Detective.” She sniffed, softening her words with a wink that seemed to stall his very ability to breathe, tapping the straw she had rescued from her drink against her lips to torture him just the tiniest bit.

It worked.

He sucked in a breath, eyes zeroing in on her lips, and she hoped to god that her lipstick was still intact and not smeared all over her teeth. She’d much rather see it smeared all over  _ him  _ later. “So, what do you do?” He managed to eke out the question, although the way he squirmed in his seat let her know the difficulty his brain was having putting even that sentence together.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Drug dealer? Professional ticket scalper? Jewel thief?”

She laughed— he was delightful. And delightful was dangerous. “Worse— Public Defender.”

He groaned. “A defense lawyer? Well, it was nice knowing you.” He moved suddenly, quicker than she thought possible really, unfolding himself to his full height, stretching with a feline grace and  _ fuck her sideways _ , giving her the first good look at that ass that suddenly made her mouth drier than the Sahara desert in mid-August.

“Objection!”

“You didn't tell me you were the enemy!”

“I literally just did.”

He paused, and she let her fingers trail up his muscled forearm slowly, tracing the skin there ever so gently. “Fair point.”

“Besides, you didn’t tell me what has brought you here to ‘The World’s Playground’?”

The face he made was fucking adorable, all scrunched and pouting, and  _ Christ _ , those lips were just as full as she thought, fucking pillows that she wondered what would feel like against her neck, her lips, her  _ nether lips _ .

“Another detective on the day shift and his partner recommended the Ravenna awhile back. Something about a prime rib bar that I have yet to find. And then—” he pointed to his friends, “—those two jokers dragged me to this  _ hellhole _ for Robb’s bachelor party. He’s getting married in two weeks.”

“Best Man?”

He nodded. “Maid of Honor?”

“Matron.” His face fell and she couldn’t help yet another giggle from escaping. “Kidding! Kidding. Yes, Maid of Honor.” His sigh of relief was palpable, and she leaned forward again, fingers closing around his wrist to drag him back to his seat next to her. “Tricky, by the way. You must be good in the interrogation room.”

He eyed her warily. “I think it’s a good thing we’re not in the same district.”

She smiled brightly back at him. “Good for  _ you _ .”

He tried to fight the smile that wanted to break free from his face, but couldn’t quite accomplish it, burying himself in the tumbler of whiskey that finally appeared, and Dany grabbed her drink from the waitress’s tray and plunked the dick straw in. “So, you’re single too? I’m not seeing a ring.”

Jon huffed out a breath, the smile growing in intensity, and she almost felt trapped by the beauty of it. “Yeah, single.”

“Why?” She had to laugh at the stricken look on his face. “Oh, do you not get that one a lot? Ah, the joys of being the Best Man rather than the Maid of Honor.” She tongued her straw again, his pupils dilating further as he watched her. “Well, you’re getting it now, ‘fess up.”

He sighed, taking a moment to brace himself with a sip of whiskey. “No one wants to date a detective continually stuck on the night shift.” She seriously doubted that was true, not with that ass, and those eyes, and those curls, but couldn’t bring herself to complain.

“Poor baby.” She pouted at him, and his eyes widened before he shot to his feet again, throwing back the whiskey before turning to her, a sudden blaze in his eyes that took her fucking breath away.

“Wanna go for a walk?” God those eyes of his were fucking  _ burning _ , a tower of sudden flame that immediately engulfed her. He nodded over his shoulder to their friends, the group cheering as Theon rolled again. “I think they’ll be here awhile.”

Dany bit her lip, looking over to Missandei, knowing it was terrible form to leave the bride alone during her own bachelorette party. “I don’t know... my duty is to the bride in her time of—“ 

Another cheer broke out as this time  _ Dei _ dragged a stack of chips her way, Theon’s scowl saying all that needed to be said on that matter. “You know what? She’s fine, let’s go.”

Jon grinned and offered his hand, her own smile widening as she slipped her fingers into it, twining them slightly before sudden loud voices from behind them had them both turning, jerking their hands back from each other. “Oy! Where the hell do you two think you’re going?”

She glanced up at Jon, lips quirking into a smile as he cast about for an appropriate excuse. “Uh, we’re just going to grab a smoke.”

“You can smoke indoors, dumbass.”

“You don’t even smoke, Dany.”

She had to fight down a laugh.  _ Smooth, genius.  _ “Fresh air— we’re going to get some fresh air. Back soon! Win big!”

~*~*~


End file.
